


Things That Will Last

by fishmoth



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-07 16:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13438716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishmoth/pseuds/fishmoth
Summary: “I think I’d like to see what else is out there, what a woman might do with a fortune and a good name.”After the war against Hyburn, Nesta finally begins to build a life for herself. Now living in Velaris, she learns for the first time what it means to work, to be strong, to be in control of her own life. And of course, she must learn to accept the love of her friends - and a certain oversized bat who she once accused of throwing temper tantrums.





	1. Almost Home

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any fanfiction since I was a child so here goes nothing! Some musings on Nesta and how she would rebuilt her life after the events of ACOWAR. Constructive feedback is welcome but please go easy on me! Enjoy :) xx

Nesta looked up from the worn pages of her novel, the echoing of booted feet in the hallway disturbing her reverie. Deep voices rumbled as Rhys greeted his Illyrian brothers before the sitting room door swung open, pushed slightly too hard by a muscled arm inked with swirling black lines. Cassian was two-thirds of the way into the room before he stopped short, becoming aware of Nesta’s presence in a sudden, obvious instant. She almost felt guilty: from the advice he’d given her, she knew Cassian made a point of being hyper-aware of his surroundings, and the town house was one of the few places he felt he could let his guard down. But the slapstick of Azriel halting just short of crashing into the bulkier male’s wings buried her guilt in a wry humour she kept hidden from her expression. Instead, her blue-grey eyes met Cassian’s hazel ones and held them for a moment.

“Sorry to disturb your… studying,” Cassian apologised, smirking as his eyes dropped away to the title of her book. She knew he’d picked the word to imply that he knew exactly how far from an academic text her reading material was. Azriel’s face appeared over the commander’s shoulder, as if he were curious as to what she was learning, before he understood the joke and looked out of the window instead, smiling faintly. Behind him Rhys could be heard. “Are you afraid of something, Cassian? Get out of the doorway.”

The three males seemed to fill the room as they traipsed in, even if moments before it had seemed luxuriously sizable. Nesta unfolded her slender legs from the couch, smoothing the silver-grey dress as she stood. It had taken her weeks to stop ignoring her newfound companions when they came into her presence, longer still to take the measure of them and start entering into short conversations here and there. Sharing her reading space with the three of them was still a way off. Besides, they probably want to have… a war council. Or a tactical meeting. Or something.

Rhys was on the point of sweeping his companions back out of the room. Nesta met his eyes for a moment before she shook her head once, resolutely. “I’ll go check on Elain,” she said simply, resisting the urge to glance back at Cassian as she closed the oaken door behind her. 

~~~

Outside, Elain stood under the twisty boughs of a small tree, drinking cordial from a dusky blue glass. “Nesta!” she exclaimed, pushing her golden hair back with the heels of her hands, avoiding touching it properly. The movement drew Nesta’s attention to Elain’s fingers – dirtied with brown crumbs of soil – Elain’s face – flushed and showing a slight sheen of sweat – and finally Elain’s feet – clad in work boots, which were a contrast even to the simple cotton dress she wore to work in the garden.

Beside her, the morning sun seeming to shine through her somehow, Nuala was laying out seedlings from a basket, ready for Elain to plant into the newly dug flowerbed before her.

Well, this was a major improvement: both on the company of overgrown bats and her sister’s condition only a few weeks before. There were still plenty of evenings when Elain retired to her room, eyes swimming with tears; still innumerable times she fell silent and melancholy. But it seemed Lucien and the healers had been right, at least this once. The sunshine and the breeze were a strong medicine for the middle Archeron sister.

Nesta seated herself on an ornate wooden bench and listened contentedly to her sister explaining the conditions her latest plants would need and the flowers they would bloom with. Contentedness was a new feeling for Nesta and one it had taken a while to recognise. It was still a novelty, like the feel of new clothes or bedsheets as it slipped over her in the morning light. As a child her mother had pushed her this way and that, insisting she learn an instrument or practice her embroidery before rushing away and leaving her in the hands of equally forceful nannies. Later, contentedness had been entirely absent from their rundown cottage, although sometimes when it was warm and she slept besides her sisters in their heirloom bed, she’d glimpsed what it might be like. And after Feyre left the knowledge that her sister was somewhere in lethal Prythian – the not knowing whether Feyre was safe, or if her remaining family could really expect to be either – as well as that heavy untruth laid on Elain and their father about a sick aunt and a recovered fortune had thoroughly ruled out the possibility of being content.

She reopened her book, picking up her place and slipping back into that imaginary world of handsome knights and chivalrous deeds. For several hours that was how she remained, drinking the cordial that Nuala had brought out, glancing up to watch Elain struggle with a heavy iron shovel and stain the knees of her dress green planting seeds along the border of the grass. 

Around midday the three women moved into the cool shade of the kitchen, a welcome relief from the rising temperature outside. Cold meat, cheese and bread was brought out, a simple lunch to keep them going through a relaxed day at – well, she supposed at home. Nesta looked down at the fresh bread in her hand, then out through the open door, sunlight illuminating motes of pollen and dust drifting across the threshold. Was that was this had become? Her home?

Almost. The thought came to her, unbidden. Velaris was beautiful, safe, a home to these Illyrian and High Fae misfits she’d formed – somehow, without meaning to – the beginnings of an attachment to. More so than the manors or the cottage. But Nesta had long been a creature who desired control: an iron will ruling deeply buried emotions, a cold lady who did not react or rise or, often, even look. And while Feyre and Rhysand’s house was beautiful, while her sister and her partner – mate, she had to remind herself still – were so incredibly welcoming, it wasn’t an environment she really controlled. She didn’t need to be in charge of everything, just some small collection of decisions, some choices that she got to make because they were hers, not because Feyre and Rhys offered them to her. The food on her plate was someone else’s, in a way; her bedroom an oasis of Nesta in a broader environment of – well, that morning was a good example, a chaotic diary of Illyiran meetings and preparations for important Court appearances and hushed voices bringing Azriel’s spies’ updates to the High Lord and Lady.

And then there were only so many times you could cope with your baby sister’s mate telling you all to be gone, anywhere else, so they could bed each other whenever they felt like it. And no-one even had the grace to be horrified or embarrassed, just rolling their eyes and begging to be spared from mates.

To complete this feeling of contentedness, to make whole her new experience of home, what Nesta realized she was going to need – and, glancing at her sister as Elain raised berries to her lips, eyes still focused on the garden outside, what she believed her sister would need – was a home of their own. And Nesta knew just the person to help her execute her plan.


	2. Tiny Ancient One / An Education in Caring

The first time Nesta had heard Amren described as _tiny ancient one,_ the ironic sweetness had been lost on her: she hadn’t yet understood quite how dangerous the petite faerie was, how much lethal power was controlled by that narrow figure and held in check behind smoke-and-silver eyes. As the war had demanded that Nesta learn to use her own Cauldron-given powers (even now, the mention of _her powers_ sent a tremor of discomfort through her – for so long, power had been something held exclusively by other people that it was difficult to adjust), she had learned of the strength wielded by the diminutive female first hand. And somehow, in the process, Amren had become the member of the Night Court she knew best besides her own sister.

 At first it was just the training: drilling repeatedly in how to shield, how to wield, how to scry. Then somewhere along the way history lessons came in, a non-essential addition that she understood to be the very start of something beyond a teacher-and-pupil relationship. Two steel women tentatively extending a hand to one another, gloved in the purpose of learning.

Not that the history had been useless. Nesta found herself eager to learn about her new home, even willing to admit this to the others when she returned from Amren’s apartment in the evenings. South of the wall, Nesta had to admit that her young adult self had been too angry, too driven to prove some kind of a point to seek out knowledge and learning. Although her childhood had been filled with lessons and activities, these had been of a far less useful sort: education, but only as far as would be necessary to attract a wealthy husband. Now she found herself fascinated with this world she found herself newly embroiled in. And from the ageless being’s teachings something like respect and friendship was kindling alongside her desire for knowledge.

Nesta realised she couldn’t remember ever having a _friend_ before, besides her sisters, and even then, _that_ relationship was too complex to sum up in such a word.

So, weeks later, when she again heard Rhys and Feyre calling Amren the tiny ancient one, she allowed herself to smile – not the secret smile that sprang deep inside her like the streams running through lightless caves, but one which showed itself, gracing her lips with its subtle presence. And a month after that, when Morrigan fumed that _that damned tiny ancient one matched me drink for drink in Rita’s and then some_ , Nesta even turned to Elain and told her softly, “I’d almost be scared to call her that, now I know what Amren could do to me.” For Amren’s powers may have been reduced significantly by the Cauldron’s re-Making of her, but Nesta knew she was still a formidable opponent. And on top of that, she was glad to know it: finding, at last, some happiness in becoming close enough to someone to know things about them.

 _Almost_ scared. Nesta Archeron wasn’t one to admitting her fears. Had she cared to, she could have counted the times she’d done so on one hand. Despite their burgeoning friendship the idea of exposing any vulnerabilities to Amren was still an impossibility. She could just about cope with the knowledge that the tiny ancient one knew first-hand how utterly without control her powers had been at the start. That shame was only remedied by the way her magic had grown and been tamed, her own prized self-control coming to the fore as she worked and cast and wielded. It still brought a moment’s hateful uncertainty into her head when she recalled telling Feyre she struggled with enclosed spaces.

Nesta, therefore, had arranged her features carefully into an expression of only mild interest as she prepared to ask Amren for her help.

They’d worked all afternoon on her ability to scry, casting bones and stones across charts of sigils that Nesta felt brushing against the Cauldron-borne parts of her mind, almost-memories of signs and magic that were not quite her own, as if the symbols sensed her as much as she read them. That first time in the war-camp when her tools had fallen around the Middle like a supernatural “You Are Here” had surely been charmed, beginner’s luck gently leading her to the use of something so simple and elementary as a map. For more complex intuitions the holding and weighing of the question in her head was a tenuous thing she still needed to practice, guided by the lady with the silver irises who sat across the table from her.

“I’m thinking of leaving the townhouse,” she told Amren bluntly. Elain would have asked for help so prettily, making it natural and friendly and a chat rather than a simple request. And Feyre requested help sometimes in a way which incidentally commanded respect, as if her position as High Lady drew some measure of allegiance from all who heard her, whether they intended it or not. But Nesta, despite her pleasant voice and pretty, pale eyes, was almost always straight to the point.

Amren raised an elegant black eyebrow, putting down the glass of wine she’d poured. Since giving up her blood-only diet, Amren seemed determined to sample different and ever more exotic foodstuffs each day, tasting horrendously expensive dishes and drinks with a sort of scientific curiosity. She looked down into the glass now with an expression of slight disappointment. “Rhys father was High Lord when this was laid down,” she mused, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “I’ll have to berate the boy for his father’s mediocre taste.”

Nesta was used to this. Amren made sarcastic chatter and seemed to sense rather than see the deep-seated amusement that Nesta hardly showed on her face, a pattern they’d become accustomed to. The younger woman continued with the matter in hand. “I wondered if you could tell me who to go to. To borrow money, if… fae do that, and then buy somewhere.”

Amren put down the wineglass and smiled, something wicked coming across in the expression. “Sick of the lovebirds already?” she countered. “Or maybe _bats_ would be more appropriate.” And as a mark of how far their friendship had come, Nesta deigned to make the slightest expression of amusement and disgust at the joke. “I’m sure we can dredge up the appropriate people,” Amren continued, going on to ponder aloud the merits of several such individuals she had come across when selecting her own apartment.  From there, their conversation drifted along more slowly, Nesta making little responses every now and then. Just a few words every so often, but still a far cry from her forceful silences of only weeks before. Sat there at the displaced table – the eldest Archeron sister still wasn’t sure why Amren liked to move the furniture so much – she found herself letting go of that iron-forged grasp on her own tongue, allowing more words to slip out past her usually sharp boundaries.

Later, specifically one small glass of hideously ancient bottled-before-her-ancestors-were-even-thought-of wine later, as Amren went to latch the black-painted door behind them for the walk over to Feyre and Rhys’ townhouse, Nesta stopped her to say two words which had rarely graced her lips in recent years.

“Thank you.”

~~~

Feyre and Rhysand didn’t seem to need an excuse for a party. Their dining table was laden with food, glasses and tankards scattered amongst the bowls and platters. Feyre had surprised her eldest sister by being a talentedly gracious host, ensuring everyone was cared for, their cloaks hung up on arrival, their cups filled. In fact, Feyre turned out to be an education in caring that Nesta’s earlier tutors had missed out entirely.

Despite those hard years in the cottage Nesta found herself reflecting more on her sister’s ministrations here in Velaris than ever before. Perhaps it was easier to realise someone cared when you weren’t cold and hungry, even though a bowl of soup was a delicious starter here and no longer the slim boundary between your life and starvation, even though the house here had bedrooms enough for all of them and she wouldn’t have to share a threadbare blanket with her sisters tonight.

Strange, how things that once meant so much now meant so little, and yet so much more simply because she appreciated them.

Nesta firmly moved her thoughts on, watching the unlikely cast of characters grouped around the table. Even in the generous dining room they filled the space, loud – raucous, even – and hungry, shouting at each other and grinning, laughing until tears appeared in their eyes. Rhys sat halfway down the far side of the table, occasionally breaking off from discussing the merits of local blacksmiths with Cassian to respond to ribald taunts from Mor. Quieter but no less noticeable with his auburn hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck was Lucien, listening attentively to Elain. Doubtless Nesta’s sister was telling him more about plants. For a moment she wondered at his patience. It was one thing for a sister to take an interest (Nesta was curiously blind to the very concept of being a sister who ignored her sibling, even if that had been her in Feyre’s case), but could the fox-haired male really care what Elain was growing? Maybe he was just a socialite. He had been emissary for the Spring Court to the rest of Prythian, after all.

Across the table Amren turned from her conversation with Azriel and met Nesta’s eyes. Something troublesome sparkled there, as if remembering a time when mist had swirled within them, hinting at chasms between worlds. Amren popped the morsel on her silver fork into her mouth and reached out with the cutlery to tap lightly on her glass, swallowing the mouthful as she waited for the rabble to die down. “One of these Archerons who’ve been swarming us lately has an announcement to make,” she told the table slyly.

Moments like this gave away Amren’s lack of humanity – or whatever the equivalent for fae was – because she hadn’t anticipated the immediate assumption of everyone at the table. Mor actually squealed, while Cassian clapped Rhys on the back. There was a hanging second full of awkwardness before Feyre choked on her drink, laughter pouring out of her. “Whatever it is, I’m afraid you’ve all guessed wrong,” she managed between breaths. “We’re not pregnant.” The youngest sister glanced round the table, Mor’s tragically disappointed expression sending her into fresh giggles. “Sorry, Mor.”

Second to Rhys and Feyre, Nesta was perhaps the second most surprised by the assumption. Her sister, a mother? The thought had never occurred to her, but now… Watching how Feyre and her mate handled these rowdy warriors, patched their damages and mended their own vulnerabilities alongside them, laughed and lost and loved with them, she had to accept the realisation that her little sister might well make a far better mother than they’d ever known before she could make the announcement Amren obviously expected.

“It’s our announcement, actually,” she said a little stiffly, although the tiniest curl of an amused smile showed on her face. Her gaze flickered to her middle sister. Before deciding to tell the others she had, naturally, asked Elain whether she would want to leave the townhouse. Although the younger woman had been sad to think of how the garden would fare without her tending, she’d agreed that it would be nice to have a place of their own. And Nesta, with that sisterly patience she could only summon for Elain, had said she had no doubt Rhys and Feyre would love her to come back and look after their plants for them.

Elain was so easy to please. Sometimes, wondering what this new life would hold for her, Nesta wished she was too.

“Elain and I have decided to get a house of our own,” she continued. “In Velaris,” – she paused for a moment, surprised to find she’d almost said _“In Velaris, obviously,” –_ before she carried on, “Not too far from here, just somewhere we can… decorate ourselves,” and because that sounded surprisingly soft to her, she finished up with a meaningful look at Rhys and Feyre, “And get some privacy.”

Laughter rolled around the table again, this time led by Cassian. For all her effort to appear uncaring, Nesta felt a stab of worry that she’d said too much, exposed too many secret thoughts to the group. But casting a quick, furtive glance around reassured her they were all far too distracted by the jest that she and Elain needed privacy. Everyone was well aware the privacy was something she wished her youngest sister and Rhys were better at.

Cassian met her gaze for a moment, hazel eyes holding her own with surprising stillness while the group teased and taunted one another. She tore them away only to make a face as Rhys announced, “It’s not my fault your darling sister is just so beautiful,” this somehow causing Feyre to flush a brilliant pink despite everyone present having made far more intimate jokes over the course of the evening.

The laughter and jokes carried the conversation smoothly on, Azriel asking her what her thoughts regarding the type of house were, Mor offering to take her shopping for furnishings and Amren promising to take her to better shops than Mor could. As they exhausted the topic (the others mostly doing the talking, Nesta making little answers which from anyone else would have been curt but from her were progress) she weighed her gaze carefully onto her youngest sister. Feyre seemed to know immediately, despite her promise never to use her daemati powers on Nesta. Perhaps being sisters went deeper.

Nesta had considered telling Feyre before the meal and decided not to. She hadn’t bailed out, exactly; if it had occurred to her that she was nervous she’d have done it just to prove a point to herself. But something had told her that her sister would simply be happy for her, whatever she did in Prythian, as long as it was her choice. And meeting Feyre’s eyes now, hearing her sister tell her with a smile in her voice that she’d better still come round and practice painting with her, they weren’t just going to meet in boring meetings at the House of Wind, she knew she’d judged that just right.

As the stars came out over the Court of Dreams and the townhouse full of rowdy fae, Nesta received another lesson in her education, this one on the meaning of _home._


End file.
